


untitled

by juliusschmidt



Series: Tumblr Ficlets [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Babies, Canon Compliant, Meet-Cute, Romance, Roommates, Sort of? - Freeform, Vomiting, Wall Sex, just one, this is really short i feel excessive putting in tags tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:37:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8351227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: Harry and Louis open doors. a five things fic





	

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to all my anons on tumblr who chatted with me about harry and louis opening doors. <3
> 
> unbetaed and unbritpicked

Harry doesn’t want to leave the toilet. He’s done peeing. He’s washed his hands. The other boy- Louis- he’s peed and washed his hands. 

Louis’ hands, still wet, tug at the hem of his shirt. He looks down and then up through his (long!) eyelashes at Harry. “You nervous?” 

Harry nods. “But I’m ready.” 

Louis lifts an eyebrow. 

“What? Am I supposed to be scared of Simon Cowell, or something?” 

“No. Course you’re ready. You’re going to be a superstar.” Louis’ smile is soft and he sounds sincere, like he really thinks Harry might be something special. He hasn’t heard Harry sing a note and he’s already got him winning the whole thing. 

The door swings inward and an older man strides over to the urinals. 

Harry pulls his lower lip into his mouth and bites it, hard. Then, he remembers Gemma’s teasing words, “Keep doing that, everyone will think you’re making out with someone backstage.” 

He can’t help it. His eyes dart to Louis’ lips. They’re a soft pink, like the little bows that tie up his baby cousin’s flyaway hair. Harry thinks he might like to make out with Louis backstage. 

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “Hey! Let’s get a picture together. I want the world to know that I hung out with the future king of pop.” 

Harry feels himself flush and fumbles for the phone he’s tucked into the back pocket of his khakis. He’s not going to say ‘no’ to that, is he?

Louis’ voice cuts into his thoughts. “Not in the toilet.” 

Harry’s already hot face turns to flames. Of course not in the toilet.

He stumbles over his own feet in his haste to reach to the door and Louis reaches it first, pushing through and then holding it open for Harry to follow. 

Harry trips again, this time over Louis’ feet. He plays it off with a leering, “Heeey!” 

Louis face crinkles 

“Hey, yourself,” he says, tapping at the side of Harry’s shoe with the toe of his Toms. 

~

The door is painted a pale yellow color that Harry’s mum had cooed at. He’s not so sure he likes it, but he trusts his mum. It’s definitely fashionable. And Louis said he didn’t care one bit about the outside of the flat- it’s the inside that counts. 

“Harry, it’s cold.” Louis hops from foot to foot, hands in the pockets of his jacket, pillow tucked under his arm. Most of their things have been brought inside by movers but Louis protects his pillow with the ferocity of a mama cat. 

The fall breeze whips through the courtyard of the apartment complex, blowing a lock of hair into Harry’s eyes. He adjusts the box in his arms, the worn cardboard filled to nearly overflowing with CDs and DVDs that Louis is planning to upload onto his external hard drive as soon as they have a day off. He swears. 

(He’d given Harry a lecture on the fact that this was exactly the sort of box that movers would steal. Secretly Harry thought that everyone who wanted Coldplay’s 2000 album 'Parachutes' probably already owned it.) 

Louis squints at him. “You alright?” 

Harry nods, but his arms ache and he decides that if Louis puts off uploading his media collection for even another week, Harry’ll do it himself so he had be rid of this godawful pile of rubbish. “Um, the door?” 

Louis tilts his head. “I thought you had the keys.” 

Harry huffs out a breath. Now that Louis mentions it, he can feel the press of them against his ass. Louis’d given Harry both sets of keys after the signing of the lease saying he himself couldn’t be trusted not to lose them in the move. 

“They’re in my- I’m not sure,” Harry wishes he had enough upper body strength to hold the box with one arm, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Good thing this new place has a gym. 

Louis’ fingers dip into Harry’s back pocket- the left one even though Harry knows the right is bulging with the keys- and pinches Harry’s bum. Harry squeaks.

With a cackle, Louis dips into the correct pocket, gives that cheek a little tweak, and comes up with the prize. 

He jangles the keys in the air between them. 

“Come on.” Harry can’t help his impatience. He might drop the box on Louis’ feet if he doesn’t hurry up. 

Louis unlocks the door and with a flourish, pushes it open. “Welcome to our family home!” 

As Harry slips past him, Louis leans in to press a kiss to his cheek. 

~

Louis looks green. That might be the streetlight overhead, likely owned and operated by aliens. (Why else would it have that neon hue?) 

In the dim light of their car he’d looked pale, his face unusually still. A forced, stony calm. Now, he’s wincing and clutching at his stomach as he hobbles from where Harry’s parked (illegally, probably) to the door of the hotel. 

They’re on holiday. Real holiday. No band mates, no chaperones- no one from work at all. No family. No fans. 

Just the two of them, for a few days at least. 

The restaurant, like the hotel and scuba instructor and trail guide, had been highly recommended, carefully chosen, and scouted out by a friend of Harry’s PA. 

But Harry’d only been able to swallow one bite of the honeyed bananas they’d been served for dessert before Louis’d ground out, “Okay. Yeah. Not feeling. Great.” 

He’d been darting back and forth between the toilet and table since they’d arrived, eating very little, expression tight. Even more alarming, he’d kept his responses to Harry’s chatter about tomorrow’s schedule to one-word snips, “Cool,” and “Fun,” and “Sure.” 

Now, Louis moans and clutches his stomach. With a quick glance to make sure no one’s watching, Harry guides Louis to the bushes, arm around his shoulders. “This patch looks a little bare. Why don’t you dress it up?” 

Louis’ brows draw together as he whimpers and then barfs onto the bald spot Harry’s indicated. Harry jots a mental note to leave a monetary apology with the hotel grounds crew. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Harry murmurs, patting Louis’ shoulders, even though he has no idea whether it’s true. Should he ask the front desk to ring the hospital? 

He’s regretting his firm insistence that they do this one alone. 

Louis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and releases a heavy breath. “I’m fine.” 

Harry hiccups out a laugh, as weak as Louis’ voice. “You just barfed up your kidney. Let’s get you inside.” 

Harry’s arm stays firm around Louis as he pushes the glass door open with his shoulder and ushers them both into the brightly lit hotel lobby, his own stomach beginning to roil. 

~

“I got you,” Harry says, fingers digging into the flesh of Louis’ hip. 

Louis’ hair crowns his head, a wild mane pressed flat against the wall behind him. Sunshine has streaked the tips of it gold, but not nearly so gold as his skin which is glowing, sunshine itself, somehow magnifying the dim light of the wall lamp.

Harry can’t remember when they’d lost their clothes. Somewhere between the front door and the hall where they are now, not three yards away from their bedroom. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry can see that the door is closed. He’d left it that way, a sign to their housekeeper to stay out. (Harry doesn’t like the thought of other people rearranging their come-stained sheets when he can help it.) 

Louis’ teeth sink into Harry’s throat and sensation rips through him. He shoves Louis harder against the wall. 

Lips on skin, Louis mutters, “Bedroom. Fuck. Get us to the bedroom.” 

Harry considers protesting. He’d love to throw a hand between them and pull them off right here. But then he thinks of the tube of lube sitting on the bedside table and the filthy texts they’d been exchanging off and on all night. 

Groaning, Harry shifts and pulls Louis close so his weight is no longer on the wall, but on Harry. Louis tightens his legs around Harry’s waist, his dick branding a hot line onto Harry’s bare stomach. 

Steps fast and sure, Harry maneuvers them to the door and then reaches down to grapple with the handle. Louis’ rubs his sandpaper stubble against Harry’s cheek and Harry freezes, dick twitching out a blot of pre-come, wetting Louis’ side. 

His fingers scramble against the wood until they hit metal. 

Louis scrapes his cheek against Harry’s a second time and Harry’s wrist can’t seem to turn in the right direction. 

“Fuck, I can’t-“ Harry tries to articulate his dilemma, but Louis captures his lips in biting kiss. When they break apart, the door is open. 

“I got you,” Louis rasps and waggles his eyebrows. 

~

There is a baby in Louis’ arms. A baby that is their baby. 

Their baby is in Louis’ arms. 

Their baby- not an affectionate name for their dog or their stuffed bear, but their real, live _baby_ \- is in Louis’ arms. 

Actually, Harry interrupts his own thoughts, there is a baby carrier in Louis’ arms and there is a baby in the baby carrier in Louis’ arms and that baby is their baby. 

His and Louis. 

Francis. 

Louis will not drop the baby carrier (with the baby in it.) Harry hopes. Believes. That’s why he’d let Louis take the lead in unbuckling the carrier from the backseat of their car. 

Louis knows how to do things like that. Harry’s counting on it. 

Because that is a baby- that’s Francis- and he’s in Louis’ arms and Harry can’t fuck this up. 

You don’t get second chances or replays here. Everything has to go right on the first take. 

His fingers still ache from how tightly he’d gripped the steering wheel. He’d been more nervous reversing from their spot in the garage than he’d been hitting high notes in front of 25 million people at the Grammys and more nervous pulling away from the hospital than he’d been stepping out onto the Super Bowl stage. 

Because those pale puckered lips peeking out from between the clouds of creamy flannel in the carrier, that’s their baby and they are bringing him home for the very first time. 

Louis transfers the carrier to one hand and with his other reaches around for the key that Harry now sees outlined in his back pocket. 

Harry’s eyes catch on the rippling of Louis’ bicep, cut right in half by the hemmed sleeve of his white t-shirt. 

“What are you doing? Both hands on the baby,” he yelps. And then, more gently, “Let me get the door.” 

He slides his fingers into the back pocket of Louis’ jeans, retrieving the single brass key. 

Harry glances into the carrier and the baby- their baby- Francis- blinks up at him. He grins. “He definitely has your eyes. Baby blue.” 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Louis says. Which Harry is, of course. They little guy has neither of their genes, technically. 

Harry’s fitting the key into the lock when Louis adds, “Seriously. My eyes? Ha. Those heavy brows are all you, love.” 

Harry laughs, his anxiety dissolving.

Louis meets Harry’s gaze and nods indoors. “You nervous?” 

Harry nods. “But I’m ready.” 

And with a little twist of his wrist and shove of his toe, the door swings open.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/post/152173830450/untitled-by-juliusschmidt-harrylouis-m-2k-harry)


End file.
